


Eighty Years

by Syven



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Legion (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syven/pseuds/Syven
Summary: Originally written on 02/13/2011. Crazy plot bunny that came to me after watching the movie, Legion.





	Eighty Years

It was a day like any other, practice in the morning and a break for lunch that she, spontaneously, decided to take in downtown Edinburgh at a little place just off the main crossroads, a quiet place called Zucco that typically catered to romantic couples and off-the-beaten-path rendezvous. Hers, however, was just a peaceful lunch, away from the whispering song of the Snitch and the piercing cold air above the pitch, just a warm stew and a quick glance at the Muggle newspaper. 

She slipped into the back alley of the restaurant with another fifteen minutes of her lunch hour to spare and apparated to a spot she was very familiar with, just inside a copse of trees on the edge of Calton Hill, a place that felt so much like the pitch but had the appeal of the delightfully mundane Muggles everywhere. Tugging her collar up to ward off the breeze, Gin stuffed her mitten-covered hands into her jacket pockets and turned to the left to take the west path that wound up the hill when a whooshing sound caused her to look up suddenly, ducking out of the way as something large fell out of the sky. 

The dark bundle hit the ground with a loud, masculine groan and Gin hesitated just a millisecond before she was on her knees beside him, gasping and looking around quickly when the man unfurled enormous, black wings from his body. She drew her wand, intending to cast a disillusionment charm when a strong, firm hand curled around her wrist. Her second gasp was audible but the man shook his head, his gaze flicking up from hers to the air above her and she glanced up to see what looked like a glowing, blue ring of light forming in a circle just about waist height around them. Her gaze dropped again and it was then that she saw it, a thick metal collar around his neck. Gin gave a tug of her arm but he didn't release his grip. 

"Do not be afraid," he murmured thickly, sounding almost as if he'd just woken and not fallen from Merlin only knew where out of the sky. His wings curled in against his shoulders and he took a deep, shuddering breath that chased a shiver through his hand where it touched her wrist. "Do not be afraid, I will not harm you, witch."

So the blue lights were some kind of barrier then, she mused darkly, wondering how it was that he knew her nature when she wasn't even sure of his. No magical creature book ever spoke of a male Veela and yet, here was one with an iron-clad grip on her wrist. He was stunningly attractive in an almost ethereal way – his shirt was snug against well-defined muscles, with eyes that had a calming effect, and features that were squarely masculine. Gin inhaled sharply when her gaze met his, a cool, grey-blue tint that made her feel as if he could read her mind. That thought caused her to look away, shivering lightly. "Than you'll forgive me for not believing you given that you won't release me, sir," Gin replied sharply.

He winced and shook his head slowly, his voice deepening slightly. "Ginevra, I will do no harm to you but others will if you are found with me. I…" He paused, attempting to sit upright and it was then that Ginny realized the darkness of his shirt at his midsection was blood. "I need you to walk away, calmly, and without panic. Will you do this for me?"

"You're hurt!" she exclaimed, stubbornly ignoring the rest of what he'd said but though one thing tucked itself into her thoughts. He knew her name! How? If he was reading her mind… Ginny automatically gave her arm another tug though the memory of his injury stopped her short. "How do you know my name?"

"I know everything about you, Ginevra. I am not what you believe me to be. I am not one of the creatures you call a 'Veela'. Please, none of this is of any importance. I wish only for you to be safe. You are an innocent," the man replied calmly, something in his eyes making Ginny feel more at peace than she'd ever felt in her life and her body relaxed from its tension. Her arm dropped, letting her hand rest on his shirt and it was only then that he released her, his head dropping back to the ground.

"What… what are you?" she asked in a whisper, blinking. As she did, some of the feeling of utter contentment eased but Gin didn't move, almost distracted by the rise and fall of his chest under her hand where it lay on his shirt. "If these, these, others hurt you, than I can't leave you like this. You need healing." 

Somehow the words made sense when she spoke them but she didn't know why. All Gin knew was that her free hand was curled around the soft wood of her wand handle and what she did next was purely automatic – as impulsive as she had always been – her fingers pressing to his shirt as she apparated them both from the hill. There was a moment of confusion, in the fogging tug of apparition when Gin felt _something_ deeply dark and ominous and then the tugging in the pit of her stomach continued until they reappeared on the floor of her Diagon Alley flat. There was a millisecond when she felt that all was well and then Gin fainted dead away.

The world began to creep back - long shadows falling across the scuffed hardwood floor. She became aware of warmth under her cheek as she slowly opened her eyes and Gin found her focus returning on a smooth, masculine chin. From the angle she was looking up from, Gin could see the edge of the strange collar around his neck, something silvery and the faint outline of a tattoo rising just above the edge of his shirt. A weight pressed on her shoulder and, it was then that she felt the light brush against her hair, his hand moving gently over it. 

There was a crack of thunder outside. "You wake. The magic of your people will not fool them for long, Ginevra, but it will give me a respite. Your resourcefulness was unexpected," he said softly, his hand still moving on her hair.

"You… you were hurt," Ginny stammered, pushing up on her hands. She didn't know why she'd passed out but the darkness shadowing the sky was a sign that she'd been out for a while – she'd missed the rest of the day's practice but an owl would suffice to keep her out of hot water with the coach. Gin reached for the edge of his shirt and drew it up slightly, her eyes widening as she took in the jagged, pink line curling around his side. Dried blood caked both sides of the healing wound. More tattoos – they looked like runes – trailed up his toned, fit stomach. 

She dropped his shirt, a light blush rising on her cheeks as she scrambled up onto her feet. "Can you stand? I don't know… I don't even know what you are but you're healing like you've taken a potion," Ginny exclaimed, torn between confused and that eerie feeling of peace. 

"Don't you?" he asked softly, taking her outstretched hand and rising, his dark wings fluttering and then expanding slowly. They stretched further, far larger than she'd first imagined and the grey-black color seemed to move as the feathers moved. When they reached full length outstretched, the collar on his neck glowed faintly for a moment then faded. His eyes had closed and the press of his fingers on hers tightened then eased, though he did not let go of her hand, guiding her closer slowly. "I am Michael," he stated, looking down at her, his wings folding in behind him, the tips dragging on the floor at his feet, his free hand reaching up to brush his fingertips along her jaw.

"Don't I know what you are? No, if you're not a Veela, then…" Ginny stammered, her forehead wrinkling with her frown. He'd drawn her closer until she was forced to tilt her head to meet his gaze and she'd let him. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a movement on his neck – the tattoo was moving, shifting, the runes rearranging themselves, flowing over each other into different positions on the columns. She shivered and blinked. "You can't be…"

He tilted his head to the side, a ghost of a smile curling the corner of his mouth. "You are a witch that other mortals believe cannot exist. Would you believe that of me, who stands before you, whom you can feel? Do you not believe your eyes or the touch of your skin on mine? I am an Archangel, Ginevra, the sword of our great Father." He lifted her hand and pressed the palm to his jaw. 

"Angel?" Ginny whispered, feeling as if the pit of her stomach had just dropped out. She stumbled back a step, eyes wide with fear and he let her move away now though his gaze followed her with a hint of sadness. His shoulders sagged minutely and he sighed but she spoke again before he could, her tone still wary but firming. "I have a friend – she thinks of at least three impossible things before breakfast but you - forgive me but the things I've read of angels – well, I never expected to meet one, let alone have one in my living room."

Michael listened and then threw his head back, laughing heartily. The warmth of the sound filled the room. "I daresay you would not. I was forced into your path by my adversaries, however, and it was you who brought me here," he replied, glancing around then moving to sit on her sofa. "I don't suppose I could bother you for a cup of tea?"

"Tea? Oh, yes, of course," Ginny exclaimed in surprise, crossing automatically into the kitchen area of the large, open space. She worked in silence, her thoughts racing madly as she put the kettle on and carefully measured out tea into two mugs. "Forced into my path… that's one way of putting it. You fell out of the sky! These adversaries – who are they?"

He turned to meet her gaze, his wings unfurling along the back of her sofa as if he were stretching his arm out there. "Demons - they intercepted me in great numbers. A lucky blow gave me the opportunity to gain strategic distance from them," Michael answered casually, as if he were discussing the weather with her. "It was an anomaly that our paths crossed – you could perceive my existence and came to my aid with no thought to your own well-being."

"A strategic opportunity? That's a dreadfully polite way of describing a retreat. How do you take your tea?" Ginny chuckled, amused at the surreal aspect of what was going on more than anything. She resisted the urge to pinch her own arm because there was an underlying fear that she was dreaming it all and that she would wake on Carlton Hill, having bumped her head and odd as this all was, she didn't want it to end just yet.

Without a sound he was beside her, deftly catching the tea cup as it fell from her startled hand. "I do not retreat, Ginevra. It was necessary to disentangle myself from them in order to discover the nature of their presence," Michael stated firmly.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw the runes on the side of his neck were shifting again and she felt as if the air had been drawn out of the room. Had she insulted him? "I meant no disrespect," Gin replied, reaching out to take the cup from him. "And please, call me Ginny. Only my great Aunt calls me by my given name."

"But you enjoy it," he whispered, leaning down so the words wafted against her ear, his hands bracing on the counter on either side of her body. No part of his body touched hers but was a mere hairs-breath away. Michael turned his head ever so slightly, the skin of his cheek touching her hair. "You enjoy it when I say it, Ginevra."

Her heart was racing madly, not from fear but from his proximity. He had a maddening presence and she was torn in her confusion and more than a little wound up in a blazing flare of desire. She knew he could read her thoughts, now, for there was no way he could have known that otherwise. The way he said her name, softly, languidly, in the cultured voice of his, was a turn-on. "What are you doing?" Ginny gasped, clutching the hot mug so hard it was uncomfortable in her hand but she didn't want to move, afraid of what she might do if she crossed that line. "You're an angel, you can't…"

"Can I not? All of Father's children possess the ability to procreate. Did you think His eldest children would be incapable?" Michael murmured, still calm but there was a edge of huskiness to his voice now. He shifted, curling one hand over hers on the cup, drawing it away.

"Please don't," Gin exclaimed, holding fast to the cup as if it were a lifeline and, in a way, it was. His hand engulfed hers, warm and firm like he was. "Please. I don't know you. I can't just… I have to care for someone to do that."

He moved a step back, his grey-blue eyes stormy and darkened, releasing his hold on her hand in the same fluid motion, his wings half-extending in a flutter. Ginny promised herself that she wouldn't regret this stance but Sweet Merlin, he was a work of art, breathtakingly handsome. "My apology," he began, reaching up to brush his fingers over the short, blond crop of his hair. "I forget that you cannot know the whole of me as I know you. It is painful to remember that you do not love me as I love you."

"Love me?" she asked, frowning. This was certainly not what she expected to hear and it made no sense. Sure, he was an angel. Merlin, an Archangel. _The_ Archangel if her very vague, childhood religious memory were any help. But they'd only just met and barely exchanged a dozen words. How could he love her? Why did he look as if she'd kicked his puppy? 

Michael raked his fingers through his short hair again, turning away, his wings flexing to full length and then they shuddered, folding into themselves, curling around his shoulders like a cloak. "I love all of His innocent children. It is part of my nature. You are kind and selfless. You do not understand that my actions are without guile."

She gently set the mug down on the countertop beside her and gave her sweater a light tug before crossing the floor to where he stood near the window. Gin reached out and touched her fingertips to his wing, feeling the feathers moving beneath her touch, letting her hand stroke down instinctively and his wings began to unfurl slowly. "I know you didn't mean any harm, Michael, but the love we desire is different than what you speak of. If I were to love you, it would be for who you are, and not because you are simply the most gorgeous man I've ever seen."

"I do not understand, but…" Michael whispered, though his wings continued to expand and press back against her hand, as if a cat leaning into a gentle touch. 

Outside the window, the sky suddenly grew dark, as if night had fallen all at once and Michael moved in an explosion of grace and speed, whipping around, pulling Ginny to his chest as his wings encircled her. He ducked his head and pulled her down as he went to one knee, the window exploding behind him. A horrific scream filled the air. Then another and then it sounded as if hundreds were joining in and the air was filled with the sickening scent of brimstone. 

Ginny reached behind herself with one hand, drawing her wand free from her back pocket though she clung to the angel with her other arm. She didn't know what to cast but the magic was there at her fingertips when she felt the gentle shake of his head against hers. "I can fight. These demons, what are their weaknesses? Fire? Water? What can I do, Michael? Tell me," Gin pleaded urgently, his wings and arms tight around her.

"You can remain safe. That is what I wish for you," he stated calmly, turning his head and in the darkness, his serene gaze found her frightened one. He shifted, lifting one hand to press two fingers to her forehead and Ginny felt herself slipping away. She tried to fight it but an irresistible peaceful calm swept over her and, the last thing she saw as her eyes closed was his grey-blue gaze watching her.

After a time, dimly, she became aware of two voices and the scent of rotten eggs. She let her eyelids slit open the smallest bit and Gin realized that she was now lying on her sofa and there was someone else in the room with Michael, who was – astonishingly – holding a sword. A voice, deep and malicious, spoke from somewhere in the room. "Come away from the mortal. It is a pittance and I care not to see you hindered so."

"For what you care, I do not, Samael. You gave up that right. Now you will explain your presence on this realm and depart or I will be forced to send you from it," Michael replied, resting his sword tip on the floor almost casually but his wings were extended fully and she had the impression of squared shoulders.

A low, humorless laugh broke then. "I do not answer to you, brother. Nor is my business any of yours. Go back to that fool you grovel for and do not interfere with me or my collections again."

"You have no business with innocents and this one is mine, not yours. You will do well to remember that," Michael answered grimly; his voice had an ethereal presence that boomed in the small space. 

"Yours? Then I have been diverted on a clerical error. No more, Michael." There was a flare of the scent of brimstone and Gin caught sight of the other man. He was dressed in a white suit and rising above his shoulders were the ragged, bloody remains of white wings that looked as if they'd been hacked off. Meeting his gaze even briefly, Ginny felt as if she'd been touched by a Dementor, with every warm, happy feeling being sucked out of her and a series of the most sadistic images imaginable flashed in her thoughts – a horrific place of fire with unspeakable creatures that were tearing at her flesh with claws and fangs. She clutched her head in agony and stifled a scream as fire erupted from the floor beneath the other man, engulfing him and then he was gone. 

"Ginevra," Michael's voice called to her from a distance. _'Am I dead?'_ she wondered. _'Was that why Michael had come to her?'_ "You are not dead. Samael tricked you with a vision. You must believe it is false and it will end," Michael's voice echoed in her thoughts. The nightmare vision played behind her eyes but she forcefully told herself that it wasn't real and, slowly, it began to fade. The light stung her eyes as they blinked open and Gin made a low sound as she realized that Michael was holding her tightly, his hand splayed at the small of her neck and another around the curve of her waist. He dipped his head almost apologetically when she met his gaze.

"I'm not dead," Gin whispered, her gaze dropping to where her left hand was perched on his wing. She drew her fingers along the soft curve and wondered at the way it moved, expanding upward. Her heart was pounding as if she'd just played a Quidditch match.

"You are not," Michael agreed with a quick, broad smile, leaning back on his knees where he had been crouched by the side of the sofa. Only minutes had passed, it seemed.

Gin blinked and struggled to sit upright, aided by his guiding hand. "You were going to kiss me."

"I was," he admitted, looking properly sheepish now. "I thought it might be necessary to refocus your thoughts."

Gin nodded, her gaze dropping to his lips then, her own tongue darting out to wet her own. He was going to kiss her. A shiver chased down her spine at the thought of his mouth on hers. She was tired and confused and her heart was racing being this close to him but that didn't stop a swell of curiosity. What might it feel like to kiss him? Perhaps… "May I?"

"Yes."

She tilted her head, softly pressing her lips to his. He let her explore, drawing her lips across his slowly, parting them at the small touch of her tongue. He didn't respond until her tongue swiped against his and then he _did_ , making a soft sound as he took control of the kiss, slowly dancing his tongue on hers, suckling the underside of her lip and deepening the kiss even more. For a long moment, there was nothing more than the silky, languid waltz of their tongues, moving together slowly and then Gin had to draw back for a breath. 

A cool breeze drew her attention from his intent stare and then she remembered her window breaking, using the distraction to slow herself down before she did anything rasher than she already had. Coughing lightly, Gin ducked her head and drew her wand, flicking a repairing spell at the window and turning to find Michael sitting beside her on the sofa. 

"That man… Samael. He called you his brother. I don't understand - how can he be your brother? What did he want? Were the demons his?" Ginny asked, shifting to curl her legs up under herself, sitting sideways on the cushion and she rested her cheek on his dark wing where it stretched along the back of the sofa. That confused her. That man, his wings – what was left of them – were white and Michaels' were a shimmering black/grey. 

"You should not think of him, nor speak his name. He tricked you into allowing him into your thoughts, something he would not have been able to do had you not been surprised," Michael replied, reclining back on her sofa.

"I need to know, Michael. Is he your brother?" she said again, frowning. The angel had a calming strength of presence but Ginny would not be swayed, not in this, not in the fear that he was hiding something from her that was important. Something made her reach out and take his hand, willing him to be honest with her.

"At one time, long ago, he was but he betrayed our Father. He influenced the younger children against Him. It was a dark time and I lost many brothers in the battle that followed," he answered softly, almost sadly. His gaze was somber and troubled. He turned her hand over and traced his thumb along her palm. "It was I who cast him down," he moved his other hand, laying it over his heart. "It pains me." He paused, as if gathering thoughts of this time in the past. "The old books err in many ways. We possess free will, as you do, but we were His first children. When Father created your kind, He told us to love you, to guide you, but Samael was jealous of His love for you. It poisoned his heart. The demons are fallen brothers who have been warped by their natures. They appear outwardly as a reflection of their souls. Why he was here, I can only surmise as due to my presence, but I am uncertain."

"Will they be back?" Gin asked, glancing over the back of the sofa toward the now-repaired window. It was dark outside, properly dark now. Night had fallen sometime between her making tea and the frightening episode in her mind. She squeezed his hand unconsciously.

He gave her hand a small squeeze in return and then released it. Michael's expression was neutral though tinged with sadness. "It is my fault they came here and frightened you. I have dallied in my duties and I can dither no longer."

"You're leaving," she stated, pausing for a moment before she gathered her wits about her again. _'Of course he's leaving, he's an angel. Did you think he was going to stay for tea and crumpets?'_ she scoffed to herself in her thoughts. Gin nodded then, rising to her feet, giving her sweater a small tug as she did. Putting her hand out, she said. "It was… interesting to meet you, Michael. I hope whatever you have to do sorts out well."

Without hesitation, he rose and looked down at her outstretched hand for a heartbeat before taking it but he didn't shake it, only holding it for a moment before letting it go. "Thank you for your kindness," Michael replied finally. He stepped back and let his head fall back, eyes closed, his arms and wings extending to full width. 

Gin watched as a glowing circle appeared on the ceiling and the light expanded until there was nothing above them. He met her gaze then and his wings flapped, lifting him effortlessly a few feet off the floor where he hovered as the glow seemed to surround him. She blinked and he shot up through the opening in the ceiling, watching as he dipped and then rose, until there was only a speck of bright light in the night sky that blended in with the stars. She sighed and began to draw her wand but the glow ended, returning the ceiling to its normal state.

"Well," she said to no one at all, wondering if it had all been some weird dream but, crossing to the kitchen corner of the flat, the set of tea mugs sitting on the countertop told her differently. Ginny dumped out the cold tea and rinsed both mugs, setting them in the strainer. She turned, leaning against the hard edge of the counter, her thoughts were miles away. There was no one she could tell. No one would ever believe her. Well, Luna would believe her but that wasn't saying much. 

The silence of her flat was strangely painful. She'd had an extraordinary experience that left her feeling like there was another world out there that she didn't know anything about. Grabbing her cloak, Gin did the only thing that made sense – she apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.

In the days that followed, Ginny threw herself into her career and, in her spare time, she tried to find out as much as she could about angels and God and, in particular, Michael. Of all the mythological angels, he was the only one named multiple times in the bible and each description made her think of him, picturing him and trying to consolidate what the ancients had thought of him. More than once, she hid a smile or a laugh behind her hand at the descriptions of Michael with pure, white wings, silver plate armor, and long blond hair.

For her off-season from Quidditch, Gin accompanied Luna on her travels, using them as stopping points in Coventry and then Paris and even Normandy, visiting some of the cathedrals named for Michael. She wondered in amusement if he was embarrassed by these displays, beautiful though they were – the peaceful, humble being he'd been with her seemed at odds with these expressions of worship. He sainted as a protector of soldiers and the innocent, things she could see and understand. His appearances came as guidance or strength or protection. Some accounts even spoke of his name being a metaphor for God Himself, insinuating that the written accounts were just ways of the ancients speaking of God in the form of a man but Ginny knew better on that account. His love for God was deep in every word he had spoke of him. He was a son, that much Ginny understood deeply.

With the passage of time, her memories began to blur and it would have been easy to convince herself it had just been a dream except for the dark, downy feather in her nightstand - a feather she'd found on the back of her sofa the morning after Michael's visit.

"I don't know why you turned Dean down, Gin," Hermione mused, sitting on Ginny's sofa one night after their weekly dinner. "He's mad about you. I think he always has been. He's stable, successful, and fit – no insult to your brother, of course."

She laughed softly, shaking her head as she leaned forward to refill her friend's wine glass then her own. Tonight was the night, one year on from her meeting Michael. "Of course," Gin agreed with a grin. Hermione was four months pregnant and she had started getting on Ginny's case about settling down more and more of late. "Dean is great, really. I like him but I just… I don't want to 'settle down' like that right now. I've only gotten one World Cup ribbon." Gin was aware of the slightly wistful tone to her voice.

Dean was a sweetheart. Kind, generous, funny. He had a wildly successful art gallery and was always in demand. He wanted a big family. He loved Ginny's career. To everyone, it seemed like there couldn't be a more perfect match but every time they kissed though, all Gin could think about was another kiss, another man. Sooner or later, Dean would give up on her and Ginny felt like a heel that she didn't care. It wasn’t Dean's fault that Ginny had woken up six months before to realize that she'd fallen deeply in love with a man she would never see again.

"Pish, you've always wanted a big family, Gin. There's no reason you can't start now and keep going with your career," Hermione answered firmly, her hand resting on the slight expansion of her belly. 

Gin sipped her wine and shrugged one shoulder noncommittally. "When will the Mediwitches know if it's a boy or a girl? Did you and Ron come to an agreement on names yet?" she asked, changing the subject enough for Hermione to latch onto.

It was late when Hermione floo'd home to Ron. Ginny picked up the wine bottle and her glass, taking them into the bedroom with her. She set them down on her nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed to pull her boots off. As had become a routine, after pulling on a t-shirt, she drew a worn, old book out of her nightstand and set it aside. It wasn't a bible - she'd read one through that first week after but it has left her more confused then before. No, this was something Luna had gifted her, a journal so she could write down her own thoughts. Luna said it would be good for her.

The small fireplace set off a light glow at the edge of the bed where Ginny sat up against the pillows, the thick, patched quilt tucked around her waist. The pages in the journal so far had been disjointed scribbles, Quidditch strategies and lists of presents for her brothers' birthdays but now, finally, she began to write about him, writing of their meeting that day one year before. It was long past midnight when the scratching of the quill began to slow and Gin finished the last of the wine, setting the quill down in the fold of the journal.

"I miss you, Michael. Where are you?" she whispered, sighing. It was an admission she'd never made before, almost not realizing that it was a culmination of a deep longing that had built slowly within her. 

The fire flickered and, in the distance, there was a sound, like a deep horn blowing and then the ceiling lit up, disappearing just as she remembered. Gin wondered if she'd had too much wine, but a spark of irrational hope flared and then he was there, boots thudding hard on the hardwood floor, the ceiling reappearing above, and his wings, those amazing wings spread out full, nearly touching the ceiling. "You called to me," he stated.

Gin gaped, no words coming as she took him in, her heart thudding painfully. He said she'd called to him but… she realized then that she'd never spoken his name. She'd thought of it, let the sound of his name echo only in her mind, but never spoken it. She folded the journal slowly and set it on the nightstand, pushing back the covers to slide out of bed. The wooden floor was cold under her bare feet as she closed the short distance between them. He stood completely still, watching her. 

"How did you hear me?" Ginny asked softly, reaching out to catch her fingers around his and he closed his hand over hers, making her heart race.

Michael drew her closer, until her hand rested against his solid, black breastplate, smoothing his free hand down to the small of her back, still as a statue for a long moment until Gin thought he wouldn't answer but he did. "Once in a millennia, a mortal can see us without our willing it. My brothers have spoken of it. Those that have experienced it, they speak of a connection that… I heard you in my thoughts, I've heard your thoughts of me for a span of time but only now have you called to me," He paused, that stillness overcoming him again as his startlingly grey-blue gaze held hers. "I did not understand."

"But you do now?" she questioned, smoothing her free hand against the curve of his armor and up, to the span of his wing and she sighed wistfully as her fingertips stroked up the soft feathery expanse. They felt softer than she remembered and they curled toward her touch as if no time had passed. 

"No. But I do not question it," he replied firmly, bending his head, catching her lips with his own. The strength of the kiss took her breath away and she clung to his wing, parting her lips for him, a needy moan rumbling up in the back of her throat as he fiercely took control of the kiss, the aching stillness gone. His fingers were in her hair and gripping her t-shirt at the small of her back and Gin felt dazed when he finally drew back. He was breathing hard and looked a bit startled himself. 

As much as she wanted him, wanted to make up for lost time, she was concerned at his expression and Ginny whispered. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Michael answered intently, untangling his fingers from her hair and reaching up to his opposite shoulder, touching something that unlatched the shoulder piece. It fell to the floor in a loud clatter. 

Without thinking, Ginny reached up and found the latch on the opposite side, letting that piece fall as well while Michael unlaced the side of his armor and then drew it off impatiently. The runes she'd seen on the side of his neck spanned down the length of his body, over hard muscles and more ran up from his waistline. She traced her finger along one and gasped as it began to change. "Why are they changing?"

"The future is changing," was his reply, as her fingers trailed down the length of his stomach to his belt. He made a low hissing sound when her fingers tugged his belt free from the loops and then he caught her hands away from the clasp of his trousers, pulling her hard to his bare chest. "Slow down, Ginevra," he murmured huskily, pressing his parted lips to the curve of her neck. 

Michael kissed down the slope of her neck and gently eased back the collar of her t-shirt, kissing along the plane of her shoulder sending shivers down her spine. "It's been a year, Michael. I don't want to go slow," she whispered huskily. "Maybe a year isn't a long time for you but…"

"I assure you I felt the passage of time most keenly," he interrupted her, growling against the hollow of her throat, his hands tightening on her body, on her t-shirt then he was pulling it over her head roughly, tossing it aside as his lips closed over hers again. 

Moaning against the ravenous kiss, Ginny tugged at the clasp of his jeans, fumbling as it came free and then his hand covered hers again, stopping her. He bent, still kissing her and picked her up, carrying her to the bed and setting her down as he broke the kiss. His right hand stroked the length of her side slowly, rising around to cup her breast, his thumb pebbling the skin around her nipple. She arched to the touch, running her hand up his arm, tracing her fingers up the runes that continued to shift beneath her fingertips. The future is changing, he'd said. Was she changing it by touching him? 

"Yes," Michael answered her unspoken words, his voice low and husky, his wings were half-extended but moving, flexing as if with his breath. He bent over her, suckling her breast between his lips as she arched beneath him. His tongue played along the underside and swirled up to lave slowly around her pebbled skin. 

The collar around his neck was emanating a soft blue and Ginny touched her fingertips to it now. He shuddered over her, his wings fluttering, and his mouth suckled harder, making her curl her fingers between the collar and his neck. She could hear dim whispers inside her mind, disjointed words in a foreign language. His mouth moved, down, suckling and kissing the underside of her breast and then he shifted, trailing the hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of her waist and over the rise of her hip, his big hands pushing her legs apart. 

Ginny released her hold on his collar with a gasp and a whimper, moving her hands to his wing and shoulder, gripping them when his tongue moved slowly over her clit, laving in an achingly slow, hot circle. His name fell from her lips, pleading, "Michael."

"I have heard my name spoken in many ways, but never such as this," he purred, wings folding to drape down his back as he pushed up onto his knees. He pushed his jeans down, freeing himself from their confines and revealing that he wore nothing else beneath. Michael paused for a moment, looking down at her with that statue stillness as if he were about to say something more but he didn't. Bending forward, he sealed his mouth over hers as he guided his cock into her wet, hot core, his body shuddering with restraint as his startled gaze met hers.

"What's the matter?" Ginny whispered, stroking his cheek with her hand, trying to keep her breath even though her body was stretched tightly around his cock. It had been well over a year since she'd been with anyone and only, disastrously, with Harry. Her free hand caressed his shoulder and bicep, trying to ease the incredible tension there. He didn't move and suddenly, she was worried. "Michael?" she pleaded softly.

He nodded and lowered himself down to his elbows, his wings curling down on either side of him toward the bed, his hips rolling forward and that drew a low moan from Ginny, her hips rocking up to meet his. Michael slid one hand down her side and cupped her bottom, lifting it slightly as he began to thrust, not hard but not gently. "The descriptions were intensely inaccurate as the pleasure of union," he whispered with a ghost of a smile.

"You've never…" she practically mewed, her nails raking into his shoulder as the first tremors chased up her spine. He was igniting her core with every thrust and it was impossible to believe that he'd never made love before when he was driving her wild with need. Gin slipped her leg up, sliding her inner thigh alongside his hip and stroking her foot on the back of his, watching the play of expression on his face as she did. It was like unwrapping the most amazing gift, to see the effect of her touch on him.

Michael shook his head, nuzzling her nose with his, dipping his head to press a fierce, hard kiss to her lips. She clung to him, her orgasm building but his measured thrusts were keeping her just there, just out of reach, and she moaned into the kiss. She'd dreamed of this but nothing could have compared to the real thing, to the feel of him moving inside her, to the heat in those eternally-calm eyes. Gin broke the kiss, suckling at the corner of his mouth, gently grazing her teeth on the plush of his lip. "I need more but I fear of hurting you," he groaned.

"More, yes, you won't, Michael, you won't," she agreed quickly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth and another and another, until her head dropped back when he began thrusting faster, harder. Gin arched beneath him, reaching for his collar to keep from clawing him again, whimpering with need that spilled over, cresting as she gasped. "Oh God, I love you, I love you, Michael."

"I know," Michael replied, his hand tightening on her waist, hips rocking against her harder. He knew but knowing and hearing it were different things. His Father had made his feelings clear on Michael's troubled conscious a year ago. He was a soldier but he was a son as well. His Father had gifted them all with this chance, and now, finally, after untold millennia, those words could hold a different meaning for him. He felt her body tightening painfully around him and he quickened the pace, pressing parted lips to her cheek as she found her release. The rush of sensation was overwhelming, his wings fluttering out to full width as his release followed a heartbeat later with a restrained groan.

As her orgasm faded, Gin lay panting beneath him, her fingertips still curled around the edge of his wing and she began to move them but he covered her hand with his own, giving a curt shake of his head. "Open your heart to me, Ginevra," Michael whispered, smiling gently. 

Ginny's thoughts were clouded, still buzzing from the height of her orgasm and all she could do was think of him, how much she loved him, and she inhaled sharply at the wave of peaceful contentment that flowed over her, of the utter acceptance and love. Her gaze shifted to meet his and she thought. _'Is this you or Him?'_

 _'It is I. I who held such pride of my love for your kind, who could not have dreamt of how such love could be increased, but I understand now. You have chosen me, would that I be worthy of this, I will endeavor so,'_ he answered in her thoughts, a soft whisper of his normal voice was there. 

Slowly, she stroked her fingers along the curve of his wing and the intensity eased. She smiled, sated and happy, and Michael nodded as if in agreement, moaning softly as he eased himself from her core. He fell to the bed beside her, breathing hard and tugging Ginny closer. She let him, careful not to rest her weight on his wing as she tucked herself to his side, his arm cradling her firmly. "Will you stay the night? If you can't, I understand," Gin asked softly, her hand splayed across the circle of runes on his stomach.

"I can and will as you wish," he agreed with a broad smile, stroking her hair gently. 

Gin shifted, moving to rest her chin on his chest, half on and half off of his body, her dark gaze growing heavy with sleep but she knew that she'd already lost a year and she had questions. Her hand crept up the rise of his chest and her fingertips barely skated against the edge of the thick collar around his neck. "Can you tell me what this is for?"

"It allows me to communicate with my brothers," Michael answered after a moment's pause, his hand stilling on her head. "And it is a sign of my allegiance, my devotion. Does it bother you?"

She shook her head slightly, a gentle smile curling on her lips and then she pressed a kiss to his chest. "No. I'm just trying to, to know you. Everything I've read – well, it's just about people long ago and how you helped them. Did you know - there're statues of you? Churches in your name? This summer, Luna and I, we went to the one in Paris. It was… grand."

"They are places of worship to Him, not me. That is not me, but you know that. Luna is unique amongst your people. I have been glad for her love for you," he replied, smoothing his palm along her cheek and down the curve of her jaw. 

Gin nodded, giving a soft laugh. "She is. We've been friends for ages but, this past year, I realized just how much I value that friendship." She laid her head down on his chest, so that she was looking up at him, stifling a yawn. 

"She will be of great strength for you when the child comes," Michael said gently, tucking her hair behind one ear. "And, in times when I cannot be with you physically."

She inhaled at his words, blinking, than frowning as she asked. "What do you mean, what child? I take a potion…"

"Your magic only affects me when I will it. I cannot give you a union such as your kind has but I can give you what you desire the most and I have," he replied, those grey-blue eyes both somber and warm.

Her free hand moved to cup her stomach as her heart raced wildly. She was pregnant. It was as unreal as any other part of this, surreal beyond words but she knew he was telling her the truth. She sighed and gave a short laugh, leaning up to kiss him. When she drew back, Ginny summoned the quilt out from under them, letting it float down to cover them both. "Next time, I'd like some say in the matter," she murmured, shifting again as his right wing curled around her back.

True to his word, he was there in the morning though she was tired given that he'd woken her in the middle of the night to make love again. There was, in the days that followed, nothing at all 'normal' about her life with him. Michael came to her when his duties allowed and Ginny pursued her career in Quidditch with renewed vigor, almost seven months pregnant when the Harpies won their second World Cup. Her parents were disapproving at first when she would not name the father of the child but Arthur and Molly came around quickly, rallying around their daughter with love and caring, though Ginny was never happier with her life. Michael came to her in St. Mungo's when she went into labor, cradling her back to his chest and whispering in her thoughts though the Healers could not see him. Ginny, in a moment of impulse, insisted on naming the baby after him. She was back on the Quidditch pitch in a month.

When Rolf died in an unexpected traveling accident – eaten by a Lethifold in Madagascar – Luna airily suggested that it would be easier to watch the twins, Lorcan and Lysander, and Michael Jr., if they moved into a house together. To her credit, Luna utterly believed Ginny in Michael's existence and she found a sprawling farmhouse in Sussex when Ginny became pregnant again – planned, this time. Her parents were less pleased – having thought the first was the result of a one-off – but Gin reassured them that her life was perfect and, it was. 

Michael was always there when she or his children needed him, his calm and humble presence bringing a peace to her wonderful, chaotic life. His namesake took after him in nature and looks but Fred was as Weasley as his namesake had ever been. The twins, Molly and Isabella, came just after the Harpies third World Cup win and Ginny announced her retirement while sweaty and breathless on the St. Mungo's hospital bed, Michael kissing her neck – unseen – while she gave the press announcement.

They had their first and only row when Jacob – their fifth - announced that he wanted to be a priest. Ginny cried on Michael's shoulder about grandchildren and family while he calmly reassured her that all would be well. In the end, Jacob went into the Protestant ministry and expanded the family further with four children of his own. All told, there were twenty-three grandchildren when Michael asked Ginny for one more. Eight months later, little Ginny came early and caused a huge uproar by catching Dragon Pox in the infant ward though she pulled through without any lasting effects.

Ginny was just over a hundred when she fell from her broom on her nightly flight in the back garden. Michael was there in a flash of bright light, guiding and patient as always, looking just as he did on the day they'd first met. "Now our union is complete," he said, helping her from the confines of her mortal body.

"Does this mean we go our separate ways?" she asked, watching as the ground fell away. It all looked so real, looking down at her body below.

"Separate ways? Ginevra, you have been my soulmate for eighty years. Did you think I could give you up now when we can finally be together?" Michael questioned archly, drawing her close, his wings flapping and lifting them upward toward the bright light overhead. 

If anyone had been out in the night, they might have heard soft, fading laughter overhead.


End file.
